


Hate of a Stranger

by So_Ill_Continue



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Captivity, Flashbacks, Gen, Psychological Torture, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Shiro (Voltron) Whump, Shiro (Voltron)'s Missing Year, Shiro (Voltron)-centric, Torture, Unreliable Narrator, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28222032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/So_Ill_Continue/pseuds/So_Ill_Continue
Summary: Movie nights are supposed to be about relaxation, companionship, and scarlet space popcorn. Movie nights are not supposed to be about torture. Especially not Shiro's."'Champion…' The call is so unexpected and so instinctively menacing that they all jump at once, Keith’s head whipping around to face the threat. 'Champion,' the voice sings again, light and eerie and cold as ice on the spine. 'Someone’s been misbehaving…'"
Relationships: Allura & Shiro (Voltron), Coran & Shiro (Voltron), Hunk & Shiro (Voltron), Keith & Shiro (Voltron), Lance & Shiro (Voltron), Pidge | Katie Holt & Shiro, Shiro & Voltron Paladins
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	Hate of a Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> I've used the **Graphic Descriptions of Violence** warning tag because this work does include torture. However, the description of physical harm is relatively light, as far as these things go. Still, if that is likely to upset you, please consider skipping this fic.

It’s never far from Shiro’s mind that the soldiers on his team are children. They are insubordinate and moody, unpredictable and hormonal, mischievous and youthfully headstrong. They aim for instant gratification, they starve for praise. They roughhouse. They bicker. They are idealist and passionate and make decisions so inconceivable they make Shiro’s head spin.

They fight every day for the sake of the universe and all of her inhabitants, sacrificing their safety and their childhoods because they know it is the right thing to do.

And since they do all of this while asking so very little in return, Shiro is hard-pressed to deny them the occasional movie night. Even if he has more tasks than he can name on his mind, even if it means working through the night to make up the time, even if he will have to cover for their lost productivity on his own – he grants them this one moment of happiness. Because he can. Because they deserve it.

They are all gathered on the lounge couch, munching their ways through space not-popcorn and watching the Altean drama playing before them with rapt, vulture-like intensity. Or, rather, most of them are. Shiro is hoping the theater darkness of the room is camouflaging his hundred-yard stare enough so that no one notices he’s been reviewing talking points for the Arultuean talks tomorrow. They’d call “workaholism,” he calls it being practical. As much as he’d like to take a night off, he’s just too swamped to waste two hours doing nothing. Hopefully, being with his team in proximity, if not in spirit, will be enough.

So focused on his internal strategizing, Shiro doesn’t immediately register that something has gone wrong.

“What gives?” Lance protests, gesturing accusingly at the projected screen with a hand full of pink puffs. Shiro blinks back into awareness to find the story of the beautiful elvish-like girl in her cross-universe romantic trek gone, replaced by slow ripples of static. Thankfully, the typically accompanying sound is absent; a true sign of the Alteans’ technical superiority, in Shiro’s opinion.

Predictably, Lance immediately turns on the red paladin, who is curled into the corner on Shiro’s other side. “Keith! What’d you do?”

Keith throws up his hands, chin jutting forward. “Why d’you assume it was me? I’ve just been sitting here, same as everyone else!”

“It’s always you!” Lance retorts, rolling his eyes. “Come on, you were the one who didn’t want a romance flick. That’s motive.”

Pidge, already hunched over a tablet from her spot on the floor, grunts. “I mean, neither did I, if we’re tallying votes, here.”

Other than to poke her in the side with a socked toe, Lance ignores her. “Come on, man. What’d you do? Sit on the remote or something?”

“There aren’t any remotes!”

“Quiet, both of you,” Shiro interjects, a little on the tired side of commanding. Keith shoots him a betrayed look while Lance huffs and leans back into the couch. Given Keith’s relative innocence on this particular occasion, Shiro will probably have to apologize to him privately later, but for now at least he’s gotten the squabbling to stop.

“It was working fine a second ago,” Hunk offers, face scrunched in thought. “Like, it was working, and then nothing happened, and then it stopped.”

Always quick on the rebound, Lance grins. “Altean engineering, ladies and gentlemen.”

On the far end of the couch, Coran huffs. “What nonsense!” he sniffs, raising a few fingers to tweak his moustache. “What slander!”

Deadpan, Keith stares at the static before raising a limp hand. “And yet.”

Over Coran’s resulting squawk of indignation, Allura leans over Shiro’s lap to gaze at Pidge where she rests in between Keith and Shiro’s knees. “What exactly _is_ the matter, Pidge? Has another crystal expired?”

“Not likely, Princess,” Pidge replies, voice heavy with distraction as she taps away. “If this was a crystal issue, the whole power system would be affected, not just the auxiliary connection network.”

Lance pinches a kernel of not-popcorn between two fingers, bringing it close for examination. “Which means…?”

“The screen would shut off,” Hunk translates dutifully, stealing a small handful of goodies from Lance’s bowl in light of his empty one. Lance doesn’t object, choosing instead to toss his captured piece theatrically into his mouth.

“Well then what’s the issue?” Keith asks, leaning over Pidge’s screen as well. With two people looming over her, Shiro can already see Pidge’s shoulders begin to hunch defensively. Much more and he’ll need to intervene before their little tech wizard lashes out.

There’s a long pause as the team awaits Pidge’s reply. Frowning deeply, she eventually responds. “I…dunno,” she admits, fingers flying furiously over her screen. “The display system, it’s like I’m being…frozen out. I keep trying to backdoor it, but-”

The screen flashes, bright blue to purple to black. At first, Shiro suspects this was the power outage Allura and Pidge had discussed earlier, until he notices the subtle glimmers of metallic reflection on the darkness.

“Hey, you fixed it!” Lance cheers, sitting up straight in anticipation. The couch bounces slightly in response. “Way to go Pidge!”

Pidge’s fingers have finally stilled in their frenzied dance, and she trades looks between her tablet and the hologram screen. In the distance, they can hear footsteps approach with sharp clicks on metal. “But I didn’t do anything.”

For the first time today, real unease begins to smolder in Shiro’s gut. The tiny hairs rise on his arms and neck, and he can feel his pupils narrow to pinpricks. Suddenly, he feels simultaneously the urge to run and to stay impossibly still.

Most of the team is staring at the screen; only Keith seems to notice his abrupt change in mood. “Shiro?” he inquires softly, uncurling his legs to get a closer look at his friend and leader. “Hey, what’s-“

“ _Champion…_ ” The call is so unexpected and so instinctively menacing that they all jump at once, Keith’s head whipping around to face the threat. “ _Champion,_ ” the voice sings again, light and eerie and cold as ice on the spine. “ _Someone’s been misbehaving…_ ”

Light floods the scene, and Shiro’s breathing accelerates dramatically from what is revealed. Himself, naked and shivering and filthy. He’s on his knees, spine bent low to accommodate the shackles pinning his wrists to the floor. His fringe is beginning its journey to white at the roots, his skin is heavily scarred. Both his arms are his own.

In the present, someone releases a high, choked wheeze, but Shiro isn’t sure who.

Pidge is gaping at the screen, hands trembling as they hover over her controls. “What-I-what- _what-?”_

On the display, Shiro flinches as two armored legs saunter into view. At the low camera angle, the figure is cut off above the waist. And although Shiro’s certainly seen his face before, the memories simply aren’t there. The boots, however, are shined and gleaming, with deep violet pants tucked into the tops.

The voice returns, this time to tsk patronizingly at the man cowering on the floor. “ _Champion, you’ve been naughty, haven’t you? With everything we’ve gone through, I thought for sure after last time-_ “ The Galran interrupts himself with a theatrical sigh. “ _Ah, wishful thinking, I suppose._ ”

Despite his words, the Galran doesn’t sound disappointed, not beyond the hammed-up façade he’s affecting. No, he sounds _excited,_ and hearing his delight puts ice in Shiro’s veins. His breathing speeds until he’s choking on his heaves.

He’s in trouble. He’s going to be punished. He’s going to hurt.

A high, distressed whimper streaks through the room, and Shiro doesn’t have to be fully present to recognize it as Hunk’s.

Camera angle limited as it is, Shiro can still see the Galran’s hand reach for the coiled whip at his hip. Every muscle in Shiro’s body tenses, forcing his back straight as quickly as it crushes his jaw closed. He can’t move; moving is escaping, and escaping is weakness, and weakness is punished. He can’t take any more punishment.

The Shiro on screen tenses too, eyes wide as his muscles ripple in terrified anticipation. “ _Sir,_ ” he begs, voice raw and thready. “ _Sir, please, I’m sorry. Please, I’ll do better!_ ”

The Galran tsks again, although what he says next is eclipsed by Keith. “For Christ’s sake!” He roars, fingers clenching on his Malmoran blade but lacking an opponent to swing at, “Turn it off, Pidge, turn it off!”

Keith’s plea seems to jog Pidge from whatever horrified trance she’d fallen into, and she focuses again on her tablet, fingers darting over the screen with impressive speed. “I’m trying!” She cries in return, eyes wide behind her glasses. “It’s not letting me in! Whatever this is, it’s like it’s five steps ahead!”

Shiro barely registers the conversation taking place around him. All he can see is the uncoiling of the whip, the thorns on its end, the way it slashes and tears as it claws down his back.

Fire. That’s what it feels like when that whip is hitting him. Like lines of fire shredding his skin, burning the tissue and muscle and nerves. He can see the blood trickle and overflow, see the meat of the wounds it opens.

“Please,” he whispers, and he isn’t sure which him voices the plea. “Please.”

There’s screaming, and yelling, and he thinks some sobbing too. Shiro isn’t sure from who.

It hurts, his back, his throat. He’s being punished. He’s-

The screen goes black. Shiro blinks, confused. He was…what was…?

There’s a hand on his leg and Shiro flinches, sure of the pain to come. But it only rests there, light and steady at the same time.

“Shiro?” And he knows that voice, knows it so much more than the mysterious voice of before. Knows it from before his captivity and after. Shiro _knows_ it.

He blinks again, this time rapidly as he tries to reorient himself to the present. He’s…in the castle. Glancing around, his eyes flick from face to worried face. Coran. Hunk. Lance. Allura. Pidge. Keith. His team. His friends.

They were watching a movie. And then…

Oh. _Oh._

Shiro closes his eyes, scrubbing a weary palm over his face as he catalogs his behavior over the last several minutes. Hyperventilation. Begging. Total loss of his grasp on reality. It could have been worse, but combined with what they’d seen of him on the screen?

Not good. Embarrassing. The complete opposite of leaderly.

Over a _movie night._

“Shiro?” Keith prods again, gentle in a way most people would never expect of him. Gentle in a way that, for Shiro, is so utterly quintessentially Keith.

“I’m alright,” he croaks in response, and oh yeah, some of that screaming at been him. And not just in the recording, either. He adds it to the list.

Shiro swallows, clears his throat, and drops his hand from his eyes. With the display he’d just given them, there’s certainly no time like the present to start rebuilding his image. Having regained some strength, he repeats, “I’m alright. Startled, is all. I wasn’t expecting that.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence, filling the room with a tension so alien to the easy mood of before. Pidge had at some point pivoted around, and now she sits staring up at him with big, owlish eyes.

“It’s okay not to be okay,” Hunk volunteers eventually, eyes wide and shiny with potential tears. He and Lance are smooshed together, with Lance’s tucked up knees nearly in Hunk’s lap. He swallows. “I’m not sure I’m okay, after seeing that.”

A tiny flare of irritation jolts through Shiro, setting his teeth even more on edge. There’s sympathy in Hunk’s voice, but that’s not what he wants. Sympathy means there’s something wrong, something wrong with _him._ And there can’t be, at least not in the team’s eyes. Not if he’s going to lead them effectively.

Sitting up straighter, Shiro nudges Keith’s hand off his thigh as subtly as he can. “I’m fine,” he reiterates evenly, expression schooled into perfect professional neutrality. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

Hunk blinks, confusion overcoming his features. But Lance takes over before he can continue.

“Shiro, we’re not worried about _it,_ we’re worried about _you._ ” He uncurls slowly until his socked feet can land feather-light on the floor. “You know that, right?”

Does Shiro know the difference? Is there any difference at all? It seems more like splitting hairs than anything important. Either way, they’re worried because something inside him is broken.

“Of course,” Shiro assures easily, offering a warm, if strained smile. “And I appreciate the concern. But that wasn’t even a real flashback, and it didn’t trigger any of my memories, either. It was just…” he purses his lips, searching for the right word, before settling on, “unexpected. Threw me for a loop, for a second.”

That’s even mostly true. The memories he’d regained had been vague and unspecific, focusing mainly on sensation than any actual event. Still, the team doesn’t look convinced.

It’s still too raw, too new to expect anything else. And even if it weren’t Shiro doesn’t have the mental fortitude to really convince them otherwise.

So Shiro stands, affecting nonchalance as he pats nonexistent dust form his casual clothes. “I think I’m going to call it a night, then,” he announces, offering another smile toward the group at large. “Let me know if you get the screen working again, but don’t stay up too late if it’s being stubborn.” He gives Pidge a pointed look.

Pidge’s eyes are watery behind her glasses and her bottom lip is trembling. Shiro should be better at this, should have the words to reassure and calm her. At the very least, he should stay with them all, allowing his presence to be a comfort in itself.

But Shiro’s hands are shaking, and his back continues to twinge with memories of fire. She he bids them all a good night, turns, and flees.

**Author's Note:**

> Generally, I'm much better at the hurt than the comfort. However, if you enjoyed this work, please consider leaving a comment below and I might do a follow-up. Thank you for reading!


End file.
